Maledictus
by countess z
Summary: So few in Yharnam with any semblance of humanity, the ones brave enough to fight the Beasts are the cursed Hunters, both shunned and feared. As she slowly recovers fragments of her past, a Hunter is caught between slaughter and salvation; each individual she cannot save bringing her closer to the Beast within.
1. Hypogean Warden Nuria

Bloodborne is the intellectual property of From Software. I do not own any of its characters/ideas, nor do I receive any profit from this work.

* * *

 **W** hen the pale moon hung highest in the sky that night, strange creatures crept out from the shadows, from the place where the Hunter thought she would be safe. Lurking behind a tombstone, uncharacteristically silent compared to the other monsters, it had taken her by surprise. The shadowy Gaoler snatched her away in a sack, took her to a place inaccessible by any mortal means.

The prison was damp. Far below the ground, she figured. Murky, discolored water dripped from cracks in the ceiling. This place did not smell of blood and feral beast like the rest of the town, but of old bones, decaying flesh, despair.

The other prisoners had given up long before the flesh and muscle rotted off their bones and they continued the haunting Chant in unison, each voice barely a murmur. When their bones disintegrated the voices of the broken spirits remained, echoing across the ancient stone walls for eternity.

 _Maledictus_

 _Donum Libas_

 _Inficimur_

A fresh hint of cathedral incense remained beside her. A prisoner who had been here longer than her, but not so much longer. A young woman, very young. She had not yet joined the Chant. Her pale, soft face was unmarked by any scars or imperfections. Stray golden curls peeked from out of her hood. She spoke nothing at first, as did the hunter. Her white hooded robes indicated that of a Sister of the Healing Church. The blood running through the veins of a Healing Church nun were considered the purest, absolutely sacred. Men would kill each other to taste just one drop of her sanguinary perfection.

"Blood saint," the Hunter murmured to herself, her words muffled from the fold of fabric over her nose and mouth.

The crouching figure moved with a rustle of fabric, pale blue eyes peering out from her hood at the one who had addressed her.

"They have not yet hurt me. My blood remains pure. Pray, tell, you are from the Church, yes?"

Her pale blue eyes widened eagerly. The girl's voice was clear and lyrical.  
The olive-skinned Hunter removed the piece of cloth so that she could speak clearly.

"No." she answered bluntly, though understood the girl's confusion, for her bloody garb had been taken from one of their Fathers. How long ago had that been? It was tonight, was it not? It seemed like an eternity.

"I am Sister Nuria. Who are you, if not one of the Healing Church?"

"I..." the Hunter searched her memories. "Lost my name in a dream. I am a Hunter, one who purges this land of corruption."

Nuria furrowed her brow.

"Then you are the same as the beasts outside! Oh, will there be no end to my trials?"

The Hunter did not respond. She pulled a fearsome blunderbuss the size of her forearm out from her cloak and carefully cleaned and loaded it as best she could from the light of the small lantern on her belt. She pulled back the safety and pointed it at the ancient lock on the iron bars of the cell, one eye closed to perfect her aim.

"You may wish to cover your ears, Sister."

Nuria clapped her hands over her ears as the Hunter squeezed the trigger. Her shot took far more than the lock; it blew an enormous hole through the corroded metal bars of the cell. Buckshot sprayed in all directions and the nun cowered.

Their ears were ringing from the gunpowder blast, but the Hunter stood up, sliding the weapon back into her bloody cloak. She turned around to the nun still sitting among the muck and grime on the tiles, offering a hand clad in leather to help her to her feet. The nun did not make any movements indicating an inclination to leave yet. She looked at the outstretched hand, and the hand at her side holding a horrible saw-like weapon, beast hair still caught in its serrated edge.

"You wear the garb of one of us, still wet with his blood. How could I trust a Beast?"

The nun's crystalline voice cut worse than a knife. The Hunter clipped the small lantern off her belt and held it up to the girl's face. She was just in her teens, not even a woman. She had only known the indoctrination of the Healing Church, accepted her duty as a Blood Saint with absolute fervor.

The Hunter clipped the lantern back to her belt and extended her free hand once more.

"Come with me, Sister. I have a safe place – "

"Clearly it was not safe enough for you!" the nun retorted.

"We have incense to keep them out of the Cathedral Ward. I will hunt the creatures of the dark outside and keep you safe."

But what the desperate look in the Hunter's eyes meant was " _I don't want to be alone."_ There were so few left in Yharnam still with their wits about them. So few who had not yet succumbed to the beast inside.

The girl dressed in her virginal white stared up at the Hunter's face. Nuria felt the hurt, the loneliness, the horros this Hunter had faced, would still have to face, for the nightmare was not yet over. She lowered her hood, magnificent and well-kept curls of blonde hair springing out, and leaned forwards slowly, closing her eyes. A sweet smile graced the nun's pinkish lips and she kissed the extended hand of the Hunter.

"I will wait. My faith will bring my Brothers and Sisters to me." Nuria said, her soft voice filled with absolute conviction. "May the good blood guide you."

The Hunter felt as though something were obstructing her throat, felt mist in her eyes, but she blinked several times and retracted her hand, shoving it in the pocket of Gasciogne's bloodied cloak. She and the nun gazed upon each other for a long moment, until the Hunter finally crawled through the hole she had blasted through to the hallway outside the cell. She straightened her posture and began a quick stride, fearless. A cloaked Gaoler writhed silently out from behind a column, its corpselike hands ready to grab her from behind. The Hunter saw its shadow looming over her and turned on her heel, and with a flick of her wrist the saw weapon in her hand extended into a jagged cleaver, its serrated edge resembling the teeth of a corrupted hound.

Her weapon plunged into the tall Gaoler once, twice, three times for good measure. The dark, cloaked figure crumpled. Its blood was dark and foul-smelling, like oil. The hunter flicked her wrist once more and the cleaver retracted back into a saw.

Without turning back to look at young Sister Nuria all clad in white, the steady footsteps of the Hunter never faltered, though the echoes grew quieter across the labyrinthine halls of the Hypogean Gaol.

Nuria waited. She prayed, calling out to her Brothers and Sisters and Mothers and Fathers, calling out to Master Laurence, to Ludwig, to the Old Blood, to the Cosmos. Though she could have easily walked out of her cell long ago, she waited for a member of the Church to save her. Her golden hairs turned silver and her lips cracked and bloody as she began to join the murmurs.

 _Maledictus_

 _Pater do si donas._

 _Inficimur_

 _Argentum aquae in tenebris._

Finally a doctor visited the nun with a blood ministration. Not from the church, but it did not matter to her anymore. She gave her arm willingly and the syringe pierced her papery flesh.

The purest blood of a Healing Church nun should never mingle with the foul blood of a Beast, lest an abomination be created.

The lost souls residing in the Hypogean Gaol had a new Warden to fear, and her name was Nuria. Her porcelain neck grew long and swan-like to carry her head which was nothing more than a hideous beak lined with layers of sharp teeth. In one clawed hand she clutched a mace, the other a lantern. Translucent feathers have sprouted where there once was skin. Her feminine form still moved quick and silent with the grace of a ballet dancer, her legs elongated and nimble, partly covered by the lower half of the gown of a nun of the healing church. One only heard the rustle of fabric as she approached. Her haunting voice as she led the Chant was either resplendent or wretched depending on the madness of the listener, but it only incited the prisoners to wail even louder.

 ** _Maledictus bestia._**


	2. Djura's Words

**A/N:** Djura features heavily in this chapter. He is one of my favorite characters in Bloodborne, and I think he has too much heart to be reviled as "that jerk in Old Yharnam with the gatling gun." Hope you enjoy as we wait for _The Old Hunters_ (less than a month away)!

Bloodborne is the intellectual property of From Software. I do not own any of its characters or ideas and I do not receive any profit from this work.

* * *

The Hunter had not put much thought into the Hunt before she met Djura in Old Yharnam at the top of his tower. He had stepped away from his gatling gun and finally spoke to her as an equal.

 _They're not beasts,_ he told her. _They're people._

What the Hunter wondered was whether they were people before they were beasts, or if she was the true beast all along. Much of what was going on was unclear, but one thing continued to plague her mind: she had to return to the Hypogean Gaol.

She never should have left that foolish girl alone. Nuria could still be saved. She would carry her out if she had to. The Hunter had slain the Darkbeast below; it was now safe for the nun to pass through.

Yet when she returned to that dismal place, cautiously avoiding the sack-wielding Gaolers patrolling the corridors, she only found decaying robes and a discarded necklace in the cell.

With a gloved hand the Hunter gingerly picked up the pendant as though it would fall apart, carefully wiping the muck off.

A mangy-looking prisoner from the cell next to her slammed his fist on the bars, barking at her like a dog. The Hunter ignored him, holding the necklace to the light of her lantern.

It had an oval charm of deep red, not entirely opaque, like crystallized blood. The gem was set in an elegant silver casing.

The Hunter put the charm in her pocket. With her boot she carefully moved the dirty bundle of fabric. It appeared to have once been white, or at least light in color, but it obviously had been here a very long time.  
"How long have I been gone?" the Hunter asked herself. Not an hour had passed; she had not even heard the peal of church bells yet.

Though... when was the last time she heard the bells?

The Hunter's memories were thick with fog. Trying to remember her past or even the past few hours only gave her a sharp pain in the head. All she could think of was the Hunt. She could remember the best way to kill the hooded church servants lost in the graveyard of the Cathedral Ward, how to efficiently manage her remaining supply of quicksilver bullets, how many blood vials she could use until she became sick to her stomach, how to navigate the streets and sewers of Yharnam without getting lost. But none of this mattered if she could not even remember herself.

As she walked out of the cell she heard the sound of glass crunching out of her boot. She looked down. One of her own empty blood vials, or...?

She heard the sound of fabric rustling down the narrow halls.

The Hunter froze. Her pulse quickened. Something was behind her, but for the first time since the night began the Hunter felt truly afraid of what she may see, not because of how big or frightening the enemy was, but because of what... or _who_... it was.

"Nuria..." she whispered, the words hardly escaping her mouth.

The eerie chanting grew louder behind her.

 _Mater sanguine_

 _Redemptio risa se_

 _Exciet exciet. Flebatur a salis._

It was led by a young female voice warped with an ethereal, underwater quality. The Hunter recognized it immediately. As the rustle of heavy skirts drew closer, so did the voices, all singing in unison.

The mangy prisoner from the nearby cell slithered over, clutching the bars. His cell door had no lock; what was keeping him here? His eyes were wild, seeing nothing and everything.

"The warden is here!" he rasped. "Get out, before she sees you!"

Without giving any other thoughts to the situation, the Hunter ran. She ran faster than the shambling Gaolers could chase, down the stone steps, down to the graveyard where she had slain the Darkbeast made of bone and lightning. She ran through the thick mud and out the door to the gates of Old Yharnam.

* * *

The Hunter leaned against a wrought iron railing, catching her breath. Her hazel eyes still wide as saucers, looking up at the bright moon illuminating the foggy streets of the long abandoned town. Her heart was pounding so fast she thought it might burst.

That young lady... that pretty little girl once venerated as a Blood Saint, so strong in her convictions, yet with such a sweetness and innocence so rare in these times...

She was now Hypogean Warden Nuria.

And it was her fault, her fault.  
Why had she not been more forceful? Nay, why had she not _forced_ her out? Give her a good blow to the head and carry the unconscious girl to safety; _anything_ was better than her present fate. The Hunter was the true fool. Was she so detached from her humanity that she could just let this innocent girl be transformed into a hideous creature? Was she so focused on the Hunt that she could not spend the time to bring her to safety?

She refused to allow the tears to come to her eyes. The Hunter had not cried since the beginning of the Hunt. If she allowed herself this weakness, she would eventually succumb, or so she was convinced.

But there was one person who remained on her mind. The one man who may be able to help her, whose words would always be remembered whenever she was drenched in the blood of whatever beast she had just butchered with her saw cleaver.

The streets of Old Yharnam were shrouded in fog, putting the Hunter on greater alert. She made sure to look all around her before venturing into another alleyway, for beasts were known to gather in dark places where the light of the moon could not catch them. One crumbling structure was once an inn. The roof had caved in on the second floor, but the Hunter imagined the empty beds were still upstairs. How blissful it would be if she could sleep. Sleep forever, and not have to dream. That would be the most wonderful thing.

Djura kept his protective eye on the streets of Old Yharnam atop a stone tower of the church, whose sacred halls were now filled with the ghastly bellowing of beasts. The Hunter began the long climb up the ladder, always staring upwards at the moon above.

She had met Djura only that one time before. Retired Hunter, so he said. She did not think there was anything "retired" about him when he once fired endlessly upon her with his gatling gun because she killed the monsters stalking Old Yharnam. When she first made it up his tower, he seemed surprised that she found him, and even more surprised that she sheathed her weapons and did not try to fight him. They made an agreement: he would not fire upon her so long as she did not harm the beasts of Old Yharnam. The Hunter agreed, and she had kept to her promise, as did he.

Djura was looking down at her as she pulled herself up to the top. He stared her up and down, trying to determine the reason for her visit.

"Hmph. I've kept my end of my deal, I have, and I see you've kept yours. What brings you here, hmm?" came his gruff voice. Yet there was a certain gentleness to his rough demeanor, something that the Hunter could not discern entirely, but it was there at least.

She could not find any words to answer him, still unsure if he was her enemy or not. She looked straight at the man who had far more years than she, who had once joined the Hunt, and now only hunted to protect the beasts of Old Yharnam, but _why?_

Djura took a step closer, sensing the Hunter's apprehension. He removed the mechanical contraption on his arm, a brutal-looking weapon that the Hunter was thankfully unfamiliar with, but to her it appeared a retractable harpoon. With his eyes still on the Hunter, he slowly placed it on the floor, straightening his posture though never losing his focus on her. The Hunter understood this gesture, and slowly set down her bloodied saw cleaver beside Djura's weapon.

"So what's this, hm? A social visit?" Djura laughed harshly at the absurdity of that idea. No one had visited him on amicable terms in a long while. His voice was slightly gravelly, both from age and because he hardly had anyone to speak to anymore. "Something on your mind, lass?"

"What you've said to me. About the Beasts." The words were quiet when she finally compelled them out from her chest. It seemed almost blasphemous of her to admit this.  
"Ah, yes. Have you seen something you did not wish to see?"

"I didn't have a chance to turn around and see. I couldn't. I just ran like a coward."

"'Tis not cowardice, but mercy."

"No, Djura. It was cowardice. I could have saved her. We were in the same cell in the prison, a prison underground that appears to be a different world. It was not Yharnam, yet still here, in town. I don't know if that makes sense..."

"I have heard whisperings of places such as that, yes. Continue."

"She was just a child. Blood Saint, with the robes. So clean, no scratches or dirt on her. Couldn't have been more than thirteen or fourteen. We could have escaped together, but she refused to come with me. She wanted to wait for someone from the Church."

The Hunter paused a moment in her retelling. Djura listened in silence, his arms crossed. He nodded for her to continue.

"I was only out of the prison for a short while when I realized my mistake and returned to the prison. But... that place... it was so different. As if ages had passed in that Gaol, when I was perhaps just an hour wandering the streets of Yharnam."

"Such things are not unheard of on the night of a Hunt."

"She had... changed. She's the Warden now. They fear her. She was so innocent, all dressed in white. She... she kissed my hand, and told me she would be alright. But I knew she wouldn't, so why didn't I force her to come? I could have saved her. I..."

Djura held up a hand for her to stop. He stood watching, unsure what he could do to be of any comfort. Djura too had forgotten compassion, though he had once felt it, long ago, and felt something almost similar now for this woman who appeared so lost and confused.

The Hunter pulled the pendant out of her pocket and held it out to Djura.

"She had this. I'm not certain what it is..."

The retired hunter took the necklace from her hand, examining it with a short nod.

"That's what we call a coldblood gem. If it's from a Blood Saint it must be priceless. Consuming it will only grant temporary power. Wear it. Never forget that you are still human, even if you think you aren't. You haven't lost yourself yet, lass. Don't forget."

He unclasped the chain and the Hunter removed her three-cornered hat to allow Djura access to her neck. He tugged on the long braid of dark brown hair that tumbled out. It was almost a feat that she had managed to hide it under her cap, for it ended at the middle of her back.  
"You ought to cut this. Makes you easier to grab in a fight."

"I can't. It might help me to remember who I once was."

"Ah, that's right. A Hunter with no name. Not exactly uncommon. The Hunt does odd things to one's memory."

He fastened the pendant to her neck and stood in front of her again. The Hunter tucked the blood gem under her shirt. She could feel its warmth against her chest.

"Remove your gloves, Hunter. Let me look upon your hands."

Though confused, the Hunter complied. She felt the cold air on her bare skin as Djura examined each of her hands carefully.

"Mm. Not what I expected. You're a foreigner, that much is obvious. Olive skin from the western coastline, most likely. Your hands have not seen the rough labor of the working class. However, I would not say they are smooth; you've got calluses in the right places. Your family had money, or at least a name, for you were well-trained in classical swordsmanship. Hm. A lady knight, perhaps?" The harsh laugh returned, though the Hunter remained silent, not finding any humor in this situation. "Yes, you act noble enough. What I wonder is why a refined lady such as yourself carries that obscene weapon. Wait a moment, won't you?"

Djura disappeared down a trapdoor on the tower.

The Hunter's thoughts were swirling after all he said. A lady knight... someone who fought justly, one who followed a code of honor. A knight protected the weak... something the Hunter had already failed at.

Djura returned, in his hand another weapon.  
"Royal guards at Cainhurst called it a Reiterpallasch. Take it. I'm sure it will be of more use in your hands than mine. I prefer things that make a nice blast, myself. Well, would you look at that! Edge is still sharp, too."

When the Hunter's fingers wrapped around the hilt of the Reiterpallasch, it felt like a natural extension of her arm. It appeared a rapier, but Djura guided her hands towards a lever that extended it into a long bayonet which could fire quicksilver bullets. The Hunter was overjoyed with this new weapon. So elegant, so noble. She made a flourish with her arm, understanding the weight of the blade, the length of it extended and retracted.

"It's beautiful," the Hunter said in awe.

"Hm. Good to see someone who can wield it proper. Look..." His normal tone became low, honest. His grey eyes solemn with remembrance. "I know how it feels. I know how it feels to see someone you know transform into something unrecognizable. When it happens to someone you love... when you see their eyes stare through you, looking at you with nothing but hate and murder as though you are a beast... it leaves you empty inside." Djura turned away from the Hunter, looking out to the streets of Old Yharnam.

"This is the only way I can keep them safe. Maybe soon you will understand."

The Hunter was silent. Now the only sounds that could be heard were the crackling of distant flames and the occasional moan of a beast. After a long moment of quiet contemplation the old man turned around.  
"Well, what are you standing there for? Don't you have a Hunt to return to? Off with ye!" he said, dismissing her with the wave of a hand. But the Hunter could hear the barely noticeable hitch in his voice, and she understood he wished to be alone after his recollections. She was about to descend down the ladder, but Djura placed his hand on her shoulder, looking into her eyes.

"Don't lose yourself, lass." he said, though as an afterthought he took a step back and whipped off his feathered grey cap to reveal a head of peppery hair. "Pardon – I meant to say – Milady."

Djura exaggerated a bow.

The Hunter's lips managed to form a smile, despite her belief that she had forgotten how. It was a very subtle smile, but it was the first time she had felt anything close to mirth since the nightmare began. Even Djura noticed it.

"Ah – so you are a person after all! Remember what I told you."

 _Don't lose yourself._

The Hunter would remember his words in her head, repeating it like a mantra until it was burned into her unreliable memory. She would remember these words in Djura's rough-yet-gentle voice when she felt the weight of the blood gem against her chest, and when she held the Reiterpallasch in her hand.

 _Don't lose yourself._

When she plunged her blade into an Executioner, blowing open his chest as she fired the bayonet, his blood spraying over her.

 _Don't lose yourself._

When she fought a vile swine with the foulest odor. It had twenty-one eyes and she stabbed each one of them, the monster squealing and belching in pain.

 _Don't lose yourself._

When she fell ill to the poisonous snakes of the Forbidden Woods and died so many times, vomiting her insides dry again and again.

 _Don't lose yourself._

Her idea of mercy was different from Djura's. She would kill the Hypogean Warden Nuria and put an end to the poor girl's torment. The weight of the blood gem around her neck grew heavier and heavier against her chest as she realized what must be done.

 _Don't lose yourself._


End file.
